Gift of God: Lady Godiva - Chapter 7

“Promise me.”

Leofric gathered both of Godiva’s hands together and lifted them to his lips.

“Yes, Leofric.”

The tears she had been holding back spilled at last. Godiva began to weep openly.

“What a little crybaby.”

“Hic….”

Leofric sat beside her and wrapped her small body fully in his arms. He drew her head firmly against his chest and rested his chin atop her fragrant crown, stroking her soft hair again and again. This warm, yielding body—this was his solace.

“Leofric, you…”

“Mm.”

“They said you were hurt….”

His silver eyes darkened toward gray. Twisting his lips slightly, he pulled her closer still.

“Who told you that?”

“The guard at the gate….”

A curse rose instinctively to his tongue. Leofric silently damned the loose-mouthed fool. He had wondered why she had been so distraught, now he understood. A heart as tender as hers must have been terribly shaken. He slowly stroked her narrow back.

“It’s nothing.”

Strangely, his chest felt calmer now. The anger from moments before slipped away as he breathed in her scent.

“Truly…?”

As she asked, she suddenly sensed something wrong—an unfamiliar note in the air between them. It came from scent.

Godiva pushed him back and rose onto her knees, gripping his mantle.

Rip.

She pulled his bliaut open roughly. The closer she leaned, the stronger that metallic, unsettling smell became.

“Stop. It’s fine.”

Leofric shook his head.

“No. You’re not fine.”

Something surged up inside her, something she had never felt before. It spilled out beyond her control. She swept aside his chainse as well. And there it was.

“….”

Godiva bit her lip. With trembling care, she peeled away the cloth bound across his chest.

“My God…”

The wound was horrific—painful even to behold. The thick bandage had only concealed the blood from seeping outward; the gash itself was deep. Torn flesh split in two, ragged edges pulled apart, dark red swelling ominously beneath.

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

Leofric spoke as though it were trivial.

“Leofric, how can you say that when it’s this bad—”

“It’s fine.”

“Who did this to you?”

“Who knows.”

He gave a crooked smile. That smile twisted her insides. It was a strength she had never seen even in her father or brother.

“Who could possibly… do something like this…?”

Though the attempt had failed, it had been near to murder. The one who could smile after such a wound was frightening. But to Godiva, the one who inflicted it was more terrifying still. The blade had been drawn with intent; the gash lay perilously close to his heart.

“If someone wanted my head, there would be more than a few willing.”

Power casts shadows as deep as its light. Enemies gathered around any man who held it. Leofric was no exception. Since he had borne the name Dear Power, Leofric, it had been his fate. He narrowed his silver eyes. Whoever the assassin’s master was, the men themselves now lay half-dead in the dungeons below.

“Why you…?”

“Because I have much.”

He drew her hand toward him.

“Your fingers are cold—like ice.”

The fear of nearly losing him had drained her warmth. The chill in her blood would not fade easily.

“Why didn’t you have it properly treated?”

Her fingertips were cold, yet her chest burned. Godiva did not yet understand the source of that heat.

“It will close on its own.”

He spoke as if of someone else’s injury.

“The wound is this deep….”

Physicians of the time tended mostly to internal ailments; torn flesh was left to barbers to stitch. But Leofric had no intention of submitting to a barber’s needle. Most were butchers. It was better left alone.

“Milton gave me something for the pain.”

“But you didn’t take it.”

Godiva was usually quiet and compliant. Yet tonight she countered him at every turn. He found it oddly endearing and smiled faintly.

The old scar on his cheek deepened like a dimple when he did.